


The Heavy-Petting Zoo

by Night-Lie (Night_Lie)



Series: Thoughts You Can Touch [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining, Aziraphale has a dirty mind, Heavy Petting, M/M, Too Many Capitalized Words, the zoo is not as prominent as the title implies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-19 23:09:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20217820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Night_Lie/pseuds/Night-Lie
Summary: After the Armage-didya-think-it-was-really-gonna-happen, Crowley was never far. This particular evening, he was lounging in an armchair that hadn’t been there previously, reading a book on herbs. Actually reading. He had been dismissive, saying it was just in case he could get new ideas for “encouragement” for his plants, but Aziraphale knew better. Or at least hoped. He hoped, he thought he knew, that the real reason Crowley was here was that he, like the angel, he didn’t want to be alone.





	The Heavy-Petting Zoo

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written as a birthday gift for my good friend Em, and now it's here for all of you to see with all its mistakes!
> 
> This only mentions the body swap briefly and doesn't further have anything that conflicts with the book, so can be read as either, honestly.

The thing about sex was that humans had a strange way attributing all their desires to the so called Evil Side and all blame for their actions for some external cause. Gluttony and Lust were Deadly Sins, after all. In media, mostly books although acted television transmissions were catching up, demons tended to be very sexual in nature. Temptation was in their nature and what better to tempt with than that of a climax with another?

It was no wonder then, that Crowley, out of the two of them, was generally thought to be the more… slutty one. The way he strutted around, hips swaying in an odd rhythm, the V-neckline of his shirt, the way he sat, legs spread wide, inviting attention the Effort most assumed lie waiting under those simply sinfully tight trousers.

It was a stereotype, which humans were so capable of and quick to assign: succubi and incubi were sex demons so surely sex was somehow demonic, outside of allowed procreation.

Crowley was a demon clad in black and enjoyed the Native Joys of humanity like be-bop and cars. And with that, came the assumptions.

Not that Aziraphale meant any of this with malice. Crowley was nice, as much has he hated to be called so. And God, in her wisdom, had created they Joys of the Flesh. So if Crowley took part, his friend didn’t blame him. Not that he dared ask. It was a line they didn't cross. He never cared Crowley sat like a decadent prince on benches in public or wore shirts that showed his wrist or said crass things. (And one memorable occasion that combined all tree, he pointed to a fire hydrant as they sat on a bench and said “Looks like a wang, dunnit?”

"Well," Aziraphale had said. "If that's what one is thinking of, then I suppose you see it when you look." And that had been that, for that time.)

It was just that, well, after the Armage-dud, and wearing each other's faces, Aziraphale had begun to have these.... Thoughts. They had started innocent but soon, they became… He hesitated to say impure. But surely they were. What was pure about lusting after a friend of 6000 years, behind his back no less. 

And therein was the problem. Not just the lust. The _other_ thing, as well. 

Aziraphale had always been tactile when it came to Crowley. Sitting close to him, legs brushing, hands touching, swapping bodies. And there was nothing about it that Crowley had protested to when it didn't happen in abundance. (They had attempted a hug precisely once and Crowley had disappeared for 2 years after that one, so they had never attempted it again.)

When it came to Aziraphale, he suspected that he was Crowley’s soft spot. And that thought, every time he had it, sent his organs he had acquired for eating (but not disposing, that part he used his Divine Snap for) into knots and tangles.

“You go too fast for me, Crowley,” he’d said in 1967, an accidental double entendre. And now it was he, suddenly, who was going to fast for his poor self.

***

It started (not really, because it really started, like everything, at Eden, but in this instance, this chapter) at the bookshop.

After the Armage-didya-think-it-was-really-gonna-happen, Crowley was never far. This particular evening, he was lounging in an armchair that hadn’t been there previously, reading a book on herbs. Actually reading. He had been dismissive, saying it was just in case he could get new ideas for “encouragement” for his plants, but Aziraphale knew better. Or at least hoped. He hoped, he thought he knew, that the real reason Crowley was here was that he, like the angel, he didn’t want to be alone.

Not alone as in, with no one else. Alone, as in, away from the other.

Aziraphale stole glances at him with the help of a window as he sat at his table, making notes on some new book purchases he was planning, or trying to, anyway.

Crowley turned a page. The book was rested on his thigh which he had swung over the armrest. leg dangling over the side of the chair, other leg meeting the ground at the heel of his shoe, leg extended as far as he it would go. Lounging decadently again. And Aziraphale had a thought.

_What if that were me in his lap instead._

He suddenly jolted. That was most decidedly not a thought a friend would or should have! Not in the way his mind supplied. Sure, they had sit on each other’s laps a few times when a carriage had been too small, but that hadn’t been- Crowley’s Effort wasn’t pressed against him then. But in that thought, in those 9 words he had spun a narrative where that was the case. 

“Angel?”

The voice startled him and he turned to look. Those sunglasses met his gaze.

“You a’ight there? You look, what was it you said when we went to the Nunnery, like the place was spooky?”

“Oh, I just- It- It’s nothing, Crowley, I’m just being silly! You know how you sometimes think there’s a something but then there’s not?”

The glasses stared at him. “I never think that. Ever,” the demon said. “Either there is a something or you just haven’t seen it yet. It’s called survival instinct.”

“That’s not what I- Oh, nevermind it, dear boy. I assure you I will be putting a stop to these silly thoughts at once! Post haste!”

Crowley was silent for a while before looking down at the tome which was to blame. “'S all just tickety-boo, then,” he said, and was willing to let it go.

“Right,” Aziraphale nodded and turned back to his writing. There was a line of ink where the pen had dragged as he’d jolted. He wiped it away with some Heavenly Power and tried to focus again. 

It wasn’t right to think that of his friend. To… To use him to fuel his imagination! Sure, he asked Crowley to do things to him sometimes, in indirect ways and some more direct ("Think of something or I'll never talk to you again!") but Crowley had the chance to opt out. (Well, pedantically speaking, he didn't when the option was Aziraphale's silence forever, there was no choice there.) If he didn't want to clean the paint off his coat, he hadn't had to. But he'd done it anyway.

But he couldn't tell Aziraphale to not thing things he didn't know were thing thought. So it was on Aziraphale's shoulders to do the right thing. 

He was an angel. It should be easy. 

***

It was not easy. The thought, and then plural, started to appear more often, in different forms.

At the Ritz: What if I reached over and squeezed his thigh.

At the park bench: What if I leaned against his side and rested my head on his shoulder. 

In the bookshop: What if I asked him to rest his head on my lap as I read to him.

In the Bentley, on their way to a farmers market: What if we went faster. 

At the Ritz, again: What if I asked him to finger feed me.

In Crowley's apartment: What if we laid on the same bed. 

Dozens upon dozens of thoughts! Often involving, or evolving into situations where there were less clothes. Where Crowley touched his skin and smiled without those sunglasses on. 

It was torture. To have thoughts like that, when his Best Friend had no idea he was being defiled so. By someone he was supposed to be able to trust! And here he was, betraying that trust. Over and over again. 

He read his books. It didn't help. I'm fact it made it worse. He'd accidentally grabbed Oscar Wilde once and remembered him and that boy of his, they had been so in love and oh it was no good to read! Everything somehow reminded him of Crowley. How a book on the industrial revolution managed to do that, he had no idea. Perhaps Crowley had taken credit for using coal? 

Tea helped. Not with this problem but in general, just like dining. Being with Crowley, paradoxically, helped, when he managed to keep his thoughts away from the forbidden areas.

“Lookit that one.” Speak of the demon. “He wants your carrots, angel.”

“Oh, so he does,” the angel said, looking down at the goat. He put his arm over the fence, a carrot laid sideways on his palm, fingers bent together and downwards so the goat wouldn’t nibble on those. 

The goat with its strange pupils ate the carrot, and the angel pet it lovingly. It was such a pretty thing, dark coat and small nubby horns.

It suddenly dawned on him it was very quiet.

“Crowley, where are the children?”

“Uh.” The tall man looked away from the blonde and turned around. “They were here just a second ago.”

“Crowley.”

“A’ight, a’ight, I’m going! They’re all almost 12, it’s fine, this isn’t the airfield.” With long strides the dark clad man went in search of Adam and the Them. It had been easy to convince their parents to go to the zoo. They all seemed to be under the impression that Aziraphale and Crowley were actually Adam’s godfathers, and had allowed the trip with the assurances they’d be under adult supervision the whole time and the promise that it would be educational. 

Aziraphale hadn’t had a single impure thought since arriving in Tadfield, or the (conveniently routed) bus ride to the London zoo with the four children. He’d sat next to Crowley on the bus, and their knees had touched, but he distracted himself with talking to Pepper about women empowerment in literature, which was about as far away as he could get from That Topic. 

The goat bleated at him, wanting attention. 

“Oh, I’m afraid one is quite enough for you,” he admonished fondly, and pet the creature more. “I only gave the nice horse one, too, it would be unfair.”

It reminded him of Crowley, he realized with a small smile. Not the nuzzling and licking his hand bit. That was only in his Thoughts. But the big yellow eyes and the fur that was puffed like a jacket collar. 

What would have happened if he’d taken Crowley’s hand in his on the bus? 

“Aziraphale!” Adam shouted excitedly. “We found the gift shop! Crowley said he’d let us pick out souvenirs, come on!”

As the boy tugged him along to the waiting pack of the rest of Them, he wondered how it would feel to have his fingers intertwined with Crowley’s.

***

Aziraphale was not a fan of “reality television”. Where Crowley delighted in the drama and idiocy on display, the angel found it a bit… much. And when Crowley had told him it had been his idea to make the “poor suckers” have to use a script and pretend it was real, well, that just sealed it. Sometimes just Emmerdale was a bit much if he happened to catch sight of an episode, and it was an actual show, which characters. 

He much preferred trivia shows, of which there were plenty. They were of angelic nature, their intent to educate the viewer. He was surprised one of said shows was on when Crowley let him into his apartment after they’d left the bookshop, as had become routine, and turned on the large screen.

“Eh,” Crowley said. “Make yourself a home as usual, I’ll be right back, have to shout at the plants. The pizza should be here soon.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said and meant it like had every time before and sat down. The man on screen had gotten the answer right. Aziraphale sat, folding his coat and setting it on the arm rest. 

“I’ve told you I won’t tolerate SLACKING OFF IN THIS HOUSEHOLD!” Crowley bellowed, and Aziraphale crossed his legs at the knee, hands on his thing. 

They’d come here almost every night after the Arma-did-you-see-this-coming, and while the gray minimalist (in sense of amount, not grand scale, he had seen the throne in the office) was not his first pick, he liked it. He got to spend time with Crowley here and the place suited the man well. They sat together and sometimes watched a show or a moving picture film, sometimes got drunk and laughed. It was nice. It was, well. It felt like _home._

Another one of those Thoughts interrupted his musings, or was caused by them, rather. 

Him, making tea in Crowley’s chrome kitchen, and the demon would come from behind, wrap his arms around him and kiss his neck, not with lust, but with affection. It would send a jolt of… Something down the spine that was pressed against Crowley’s chest. And the taller man wouldn’t pull away, he’d just be happy to be there. His member would press against Aziraphale’s behind, but not with demanding intent, but assurance it was there should Aziraphale want it. That Crowley found him desirable. 

A loud **bang!** brought him back from those dangerous imaginings. 

“I SAID do I make myself CLEAR?!” The demon’s voice was not affectionate or reassuring. A poor plant was getting the scare of its life.

_“Well, John, you still have two Lifelines left. Call a friend, or fifty-fifty.”_

_“I’ll call a friend, I think.”_

_“Let’s call Shawn.”_

On the screen the suited host smiled as a ringing sound played. Someone picked up with a click.

_“Shawn, I’m here with John who wants to be a millionaire-”_

“Damn bastards. Dunno why I bother sometimes.” Crowley dropped himself into the free space next to Aziraphale, legs spread apart, the arm between resting on the backrest. “I’ve gone soft. Should just grind them all and be done with it.”

“Oh, but you’d miss them,” Aziraphale said, turning to look at him, forcing his voice to be even. The demon wasn’t a mind reader. He didn’t know. And even if he did, it wasn't on him to tone himself down. It was on Aziraphale not to lust after his friend.

“Eh. I’ve got y- Other stuff to spend time on. I’d be fine.” Before Aziraphale could ask, the doorbell rang. Crowley snapped, and the pizza was on the table.

“Remember to pay,” the angel said, and with a sigh, throwing his head back, the demon snapped again. 

Aziraphale wondered what would happen if he kissed that exposed skin on top of his jugular. He turned his hungry eyes to the pizza instead.

***

Aziraphale had been foolish, but the trivia show had given him the advice he’d needed. He needed to call a friend.

"Anathema, my darling girl. I know you're quite done with the prophecies of your great great great great great grandmother but I was just wondering. That is if you would happen to remember-"

_"Aziraphale,"_ Anathema said, voice patient and friendly. _"It's fine. What did you want to know?"_

"Well. I was just wondering if. There may have been. Anything about, other than the one that already happened, about um. That is to say. Crowley and I- I mean-." 

The laughter over the phone line was quickly smothered by a hand. He frowned. His chest tightened. Anathema thought it was wrong, then, too, and was laughing at him for even thinking that perhaps there was a chance-

_"I'm afraid there wasn't anything about a wedding date. I'm sorry. But whatever you decide on will be lovely."_

"Wedding?!" He dropped the receiver and caught it again. "What do you mean-" 

_"It's okay, I'll pretend to be surprised when the invite comes. I promise I haven't told anyone. Don't worry so much. He adores you. He'll be happy as long as you are."_ There was a crash of some kind, and Newton yelled. _"I have to go save him, I told him he shouldn't try to install the TV satellite, but he didn't listen. He said since it's not a computer it doesn't count. I'll talk to you later!" _

With a click he was alone. He stood there for a while. Wedding. But that- That was absurd! Crowley would never- Especially not if he found out about the Thoughts and keeping them from him which felt an awful lot like lying. 

And Aziraphale never wanted to lie to him, not again. It was Wrong and Their Side was the Right Side. 

That settled it, didn't it? He's have to tell him. They'd been friends for 6000 years, surely Crowley would understand! 

…What if Crowley didn't understand? They'd been friends for 6000 years! He couldn't throw that away. (He already had, before, and he knew he was incredibly lucky to have it back. "We're not friends! I don't even like you!") 

He set the receiver down and noticed his hands were sweaty. 

Crowley had gone to face his punishment for him. Crowley had stopped time for him. Crowley had given so much. He couldn't ask him to give more. Asking for forgiveness and understanding was too much. 

But if he kept it hidden longer and he ever found out… What if Crowley decided he wanted to go to Alpha Centauri after all after being betrayed so deeply?

Outside, tires screeched and a car door closed. The bookshop door opened, making the bell oscillate. 

"Roight, got your Berliner-pastries with cranberry jam, an assortment of macaroons aaaaand a marzipan roly-poly. The pastry, not the beetle, won’t make that mistake again," Crowley stood with a relaxed pose, holding a box of treats on one hand like he was a waitress on roller skates delivering a tray or milkshakes. He frowned. 

"Was'wrong Angel?" There was such concern in his voice. Aziraphale deflated. 

"I'll make tea. I have something I must tell you. Should have told you much sooner." When Crowley tensed he was quick to placate. 

"It's nothing bad. Well, it is, but just for me. If it was someone else, then it wouldn't be as bad. But you've done nothing wrong. Please don't- Please just wait until I've told you."

Crowley's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed and then nodded. He followed the angel upstairs into the flat where Aziraphale prepared tea with a kettle. It was good he had always insisted it tasted better like that, because now he had time to plan. 

_Dear Crowley,_ he could start. Too presumptuous to use "dear" before confessing such lust. Crowley might think he had expectations. 

_My good friend._ Better. Not vague about how he felt. A confirmation that they were friends and that he wasn’t expecting anything with this confession. 

_My good friend. I have been having Thoughts and I simply must come clean to you. I feel rather horrible about them and I hope you can forgive me. I understand if you cannot but I would be very glad if you didn’t disappear for a century after-_

The kettle whistled. He poured two cups and then set them down. One of the Berliners were on a plate, the sugar glazing shimmering in the yellowish light of his kitchen lamp. He sat. Set his hands one top of the other on the table. Took hold of the tea cup. Took a sip. Fiddled with a napkin with a floral design.

“Angel,” Anthony Crowley said. “I’m not trying to be pushy but you said you’d tell me and you’re acting like a pig in a butcher’s shop.”

“What?”

“Nervous. And I’d like to know why.”

Crowley's Patience had reached its end. It may have been a Virtue, and as Principality, Aziraphale had plenty of those, but Crowley wasn't known for his.

Aziraphale was afraid but he desperately needed to speak, and Crowley was desperate to hear him. And being afraid and desperate was a bad combination.

“Can you take off the glasses? Just- I’d like to see your face properly.” He wasn’t supposed to ask for anything- But what if he’d never see Crowley again? He wanted one last, selfish look at those eyes.

After minute hesitation, Crowley took off the glasses and set them on the table. He didn’t touch the tea. Those irises pierced through to Aziraphale’s very soul, or the angel equivalent of it.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, and that wasn’t how it was supposed to go. “My dear friend. My food- Good friend. We’ve been friends for 6000 years.”

The demon nodded slowly. Apprehensive. Coiled like a snake ready to run. And that took the wind out of Azirphale’s sails.

“I’ve been having improper thoughts about us. I wanted to apologize. I am so very sorry I have had those thoughts about you. I should have known better.”

The coiled snake relaxed in confusion. “Improper-? What?”

“Thoughts. I assure you, I have stopped as soon as they arose and had no intent on acting on them or fantasizing further.”

“I know what a thought is. I’m confused about the improper part.”

And here it was. The big moment. 

“Improper. As in. Intimate. You and I.”

There was a long silence, and then a very silent “Oh.”

“I truly am sorry, my dear Crowley. I would never ask more from you than you’re willing to give, never again. I am sure now that I’ve told you it will all go back to normal again.”

“What kinda thoughts?” the serpent asked, and Aziraphale’s brain stopped functioning for a bit.

“Uh, pardon?”

“What kind of… You said intimate, so you mean like…”

Oh for Heaven’s sake, he thought, shoulders bristling involuntarily as his wings, invisible here but not on the ethereal plane ruffled. 

“Oh for Heaven’s sake, Crowley. You know. Don’t make me say it. Us, sitting on the couch and your arm is around me. You holding my hand as you sleep and I read beside you, you smiling at me and kissing my cheek before-”

The napkin in his hands ripped apart. He’d forgotten he still had it. 

Crowley stared, snake-like eyes fixed on the angel on the other side of the table. Aziraphale took a deep breath.

“I truly am sorry. I've betrayed your trust in me by having lustful thoughts of you. You are my Best Friend and I don’t want anything to ruin that. I understand if you need time away from me.”

“Bahuguh,” Anthony Janthony said. Aziraphale scrunched up the napkin in his hands.

There was silence. He daren’t break it. Suddenly, cold hands were on top of his own.

“You stupid angel, you’re so much cleverer than me but you’re still so utterly stupid sometimes!”

“Wh- huh?” Aziraphale said, somehow, even though he felt like his throat was seizing up.

“I have those thoughts too! Been having them for ages! How could I ever be mad about it?”

“You misunderstand! It’s not just friendly closeness!”

“No, _you_ don’t understand. I feel that too.”

Another silence followed as the angel took that in. 

“Oh,” he said. “Oh!” Then he blushed. His demon grinned. 

“I know you don’t think of cuddling as impure. You’ve had more explicit thoughts too. Tell me.”

“Oh, I don’t think- That’s a bit-” the shorter of the two stammered. The grin faded.

“I’m going too fast again,” Crowley said and begun to pull his hands away,

“NO!” Aziraphale grabbed him by the wrists. “No no! I’m simply. You truly…? Me?”

The sad look that had begun to creep onto that angular face was replaced by a small smile. It looked much better on him. 

“Who else, Angel? 6000 years.”

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said and laced their fingers together. “Oh, Crowley.” The demon had patience after all, more than the angel had ever known.

“‘S alright. Angel, I promise. Thoughts like that are okay. You haven’t hurt me with them. So please. Was there more?”

The sudden openness on his demon’s face filled him with something like confidence. 

“I have had thoughts about your… Um. Girth. Nothing- Nothing very detailed but it has- Well, what I imagine it to be like has been… Present a few times.”

“My girth?” The demon asked, grinning wider than ever. “Angel, you can have it. You just have to ask.”

“I've asked so much of you lately. I cannot ask for more.”

“And I will not give you anything I don’t know you want for sure,” the serpentine demon said firmly. “I won’t defile you like that.”

“Oh, Heavens, dear boy no! You would never, I didn’t mean you would. I simply…” In for a pence, in for a pounce. “I am… A little uncertain what to do if you were to… Present me with your… Length. I’ve never. I’ve kissed, I’m not- The boys at the gavotte gatherings were lovely, I simply-”

“You’re so cute when you’re shy,” Crowley said and leaned over the table to shut him up with a kiss. And shut him up it did, his brain was like a computer after Newton had touched it. Blank, no connections being made to anywhere. 

Crowley pulled away slowly, still close enough that what he breathed out, Aziraphale breathed in. “6000 years, Angel,” he said softly, and Aziraphale felt like a fool.

“Oh- You should have said something! I had no idea, I wouldn’t be so cruel as to ignore your feelings!”

“I know,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale knew it was the truth. There was no ill will, not grudge. “I went too fast for you. But you’ve caught up now.”

“Caught- Yes. Caught you,” he said and giggled. “My wily serpent.”

“My clever Principality,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale knew what worship felt like.

“In my Tho- Fantasies. You have your jeans on. And you make me fall apart, and then you put me together again, and you are happy.”

“I’m happy with you.” With a simple tug, Aziraphale was suddenly in Crowley’s lap like the table hadn’t been between them. “Can I? Make you fall apart and put you together? Will you let me?”

“Yes, oh yes, yes, my dear…”

With a snap, they were on Crowley’s couch. Aziraphale found himself straddling those long legs, and he felt himself redden.

“I’m gonna break you so gently,” the First Temptator promised. “Just tell me to stop if you don’t want it. But please…” And here, that vulnerability Aziraphale so rarely saw, was. “Don’t make me stay away from you if it’s not what you wanted.”

"A life without you is an empty one,” Aziraphale said with conviction, heart hammering against his rib-cage like a dove wanting to escape. “I won’t ever turn you away. Just perhaps… Ask for a little break but you’d be there with me. On the bench, as they say, in sports- OH!”

Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s behind and winked with those golden eyes. “Oh, you have the best seat in the stadium,” he said wickedly, and Aziraphale began to crack. 

***

Strictly speaking, angels didn’t need to breathe. Humans didn’t exactly notice it, but they seemed to be able to tell when someone was talking and talking but not breathing subconsciously, which made them nervous, so it was much easier to just let the vessel do so. And breathing allowed for such pretty noises.

Crowley punched another gasp out of Aziraphale, and the angel threw his head back. Crowley had one hand in tangled in his curls as he mouthed on his neck and chest (they both had their trousers on, but Crowley was sans jacket and Aziraphale was sans everything on his torso.) 

The other hand squeezed his hip as he rocked his hips down into the demons lap and the bulge there, keening.

“Thassit, Angel. My pretty little Angel. You’re so desperate for it, aren’t you. You want it.”

Aziraphale managed a weak nod, trying to say something affirming, but his mouth was too busy being open and panting.

“‘S not lust for you, ‘s gluttony. You’re so fucking thirsty for my cock,” the demon said against his neck where saliva and sweat mingled and Aziraphale moaned, hips stuttering.

The snake thrust up easily, the angel’s legs around his hips. They were flush against one another, chest to chest, girth to gap, even though layers of fabric were in between. It seemed to excite Crowley instead of bother him. 

“Tell me you want it, Angel,” he said, whispering in his ear and then licking at the shell with his forked tongue.

“I wan-ah, I want your girth. It’s so big, Crowley, ooh, it feels so good against me,” Aziraphale managed in a breathless voice. He gripped the demon’s shoulders tightly through his musical ensemble shirt. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

“Mmmh, naughty. Such dirty thoughts. Can’t go one minute without thinking about something to eat. You want it so bad. You’re so pretty when you’re like this, Aziraphale, just for my eyes to see.” And those eyes saw, the the glasses had been left on the table in the kitchen upstairs of the bookshop.

“Ah, Crowley!” Aziraphale shouted as they both managed a wonderfully timed thrust. "Please don't stop!" 

"I don't plan to." Another thrust and Aziraphale was losing his mind. It was so much and no enough. 

"Please, please," he pleaded. How could he not as when Crowley was so eager to give? 

"Jus' tell me what you want, only good Angels get their treats."

Aziraphale groaned, hips jerking in an uncertain rhythm. "Please- Can you bite right there?" 

"Here?" Crowley asked and nipped on the wrong spot. "Here?" 

Aziraphale shook his head as best he could while Crowley's hand was still in his hair. "On the, this-" He moved his hand from Crowley's shoulder to the spot where jawbone met neck, below the ear.

"Say "Please my demon"." The grin was evident in his voice. 

"Please, my amazing, infuriating demon!" 

Crowley gave in and bit down, not too hard, but still so good. Aziraphale tightened his grip on him, desperate. 

"Ah, I'm- close?!" 

"Let go angel. I'm here to put you back together." He kissed him, their first kiss, and the dam broke. Aziraphale came with a shout and a sob and Crowley's tongue pressed in. 

He rocked his hips shallowly until Crowley brought his other hand to his hip as well. The serpent held tight and thrust up, and then he was coming with incoherent noises. 

They panted together, Aziraphale limp against the taller man. After a moment, said man snapped and the liquids of release vanished. 

"How you feeling?" The redhead asked. 

“Simply ti-”

“If you say tickity-boo I swear, I will get grime on all your first editions.”

“...Tip top.” There was a small sigh but no further complaints. They settled on the couch, Crowley on his back, Aziraphale laying on top of him, snuggling as close as he could. 

They stayed like that for a while, just breathing and feeling good. Feeling incredible. 

“I spoke to Anathema,” Aziraphale began, wiping his eyes of a few tears he didn't know he had produced. Tears of relief.

Crowley groaned. “Do we have to talk about her right now?” the demon asked, arm slung over his eyes while the other was still around his angel as they laid down.

“Let me finish, dear. She asked about, well, she didn’t ask but, the topic somehow was, ah… Our wedding date?”

Crowley removed the hand from his eyes to look at him. “Wedding?” He asked, voice several octaves higher than normal.

“I don’t want to rush. I just. I didn’t want to keep another secret. And telling you the last one went rather well for me.” That got a chuckle out of the demon.

“Married in the eyes of God? ‘Scuse me ma’am, but I was planning on defiling this angel for the rest of eternity, mind signing off on it?' ”

“Oh, you!” Aziraphale said and swatted at his shoulder before they both broke into a fit of giggles. “I know what you mean. But I just had a thought. What if we had a little ceremony. Not a marriage. Just… Invite our friends and celebrate the fact that after 6000 years we’re both finally going at the same speed?”

Crowley was silent for a moment. “Define friends.”

“Well, Adam, his friends, Anathema, Newton, Ms. Tracy and Mr. Shadwell-”

“Shadwell isn’t my friend!”

“But he is dating Ms. Tracy and she is my friend,” the benevolent angel said gently. The demon relented.

“Ugh, fine! But if he tries any exorcisms, I’m snapping him into the Super-Sargasso Sea!”

“I’ll allow it,” Aziraphale smiled, closing his eyes. Crowley's hand moved to gently brush though his hair. 

"Did you ever imagine this?" Crowley asked. 

"I did," Aziraphale replied with a happy sigh.

"...Me too." Crowley planted a kiss on his forehead and whatever thoughts were had, were Good (and to be acted upon later).

(They set the date for August.)

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you like it! I'll hopefully write the wedding eventually.


End file.
